


My One and Only Sweetheart

by thegoodthebadandthenerdy



Category: bare: A Pop Opera - Hartmere/Intrabartolo
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Tune in this time to find out what dean martin song ill make you relate to these boys, this is a little rewrite of That One Scene, this is sad and i hate myself for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 01:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8602126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodthebadandthenerdy/pseuds/thegoodthebadandthenerdy
Summary: Peter's mind during Romeo and Juliet, and the events thereafter.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Me, posting my first bare fic: YALL MADE THIS TAG TOO SAD HAVE SOME CUTENESS
> 
> Me, now: welp, here we are

From my spot on the stage, I have a good view of everyone. Ivy is at the front of the stage, passionately reciting her lyrics to the audience.

I keep my eyes trained on her. Just because I can see everyone doesn't mean I need to see _everyone_.

I know he's there, standing beside her. I can hear his voice, and it takes everything in me to keep my eyes off of him.

It's lilting, his voice, and his words, normally so sharp and concise, have a soft edge to them, like melting ice cream dripping off of a spoon.

I brush off the concern as fast as it takes hold in my heart - that's not my job anymore.

But really, was it ever really my job in the first place? I tried. God, I _tried_ , and he only ever pushed me away in return. Unless we were alone, and even then….

I think that was mostly from reflex, him pushing me away even if it was just us. I used to try to justify it, make an input whose calculations would give me an output that didn't lead to him not caring or not loving me.

But now. I can't. I can't justify it because I know I'll take him back and I can't live - I can't love - in the shadows anymore. I want to tell my mother and I want to be honest and I want this and this and this.

The back of my mind itches with intrusive thoughts that I _know_ , so deep down that I need a map to find them, are true.

_He loves you. He always had. It's not his fault._

That one particularly likes to repeat over and over in my train of thought - _it's not his fault, it's not his fault, it's not his fault._

I know that he can't come to terms with himself right now. I know that. It's going to take time and distance from all the bigots.

And I can't rush that. I have no _right_ to rush that. But just like I can't pull him out of the shadows, he has no right to pull me back in.

So no - not now. We can't…we can't be together right now. 

But my heart is screaming at me, it's telling me there is no logic in love and it takes time to figure these things out but you can, you _can_ figure these things out. And if it is true love - and it is, oh how it is - then you deserve to give yourself a chance at having that.

I stomp that down. I have to - for sanity's sake, if for anything. 

And then I look up and I see those precise features that I used to trace in the dark of our dorm room, and those just on the other side of blue eyes, and the lips I used to kiss for what felt like seconds and lifetimes all in one...

And my resolve breaks.

I want to feel his lips under the tips of my fingers and I want to hold him and never let him go and I want to tell him I love him. I want, I want, I want.

As if he can feel my eyes on him - and I have no doubt that he can, we're tethered, after years of friendship, and unmeasureable amount of time as something _more_ , I can always feel his presence, and he mine, even if we're standing in a crowded hallway - he turns his head to the side.

We never truly lock eyes, his are unfocused, never really stopping on anything, and they're glassy too. I think he's been crying, the undersides are puffy and the skin is irritated. You wouldn't be able to see it unless you were on stage - so I know all the other actors see it.

Now if they _care_ is a whole other ball game. Ivy, though she's smiling at him, is pissed - you can see it in her eyes. Lukas looks fidgety, he can't move a lot on stage, but his jaw is tight. Nadia - from her space at the very far back of the stage - has her eyebrows drawn together in concern.

I feel my stomach roiling, something is wrong; I just…can't put my finger on it. I shake my head, now's not the time. I don't know if it ever will be _the time_ again, but for now….

I push everything to the back of my mind, the way he's swaying, the lope of his grin, his eyes - constantly on me so much so that you'd think _I_ was Juliet - and focus on the scene.

His legs are shaking underneath him as he clasps hands with Ivy, moving to a violent tremble as they do a small circle. Ivy's eyes shift, from royally pissed to an almost concern. The music is building inside my chest, though the volume hasn't grown.

The dread is mounting, I keep telling myself to focus on the scene, if I could just focus we could deal with this later, later-

Ivy grabs his face, her black nails pulling at the skin of his cheeks. "Jason," she hisses it at him, something desperate twinging her tone.

I'm going to be sick, I think, and then his legs give way.

It all happens in slow motion, one second he's standing, face in Ivy's grasp, and then he's on the stage.

Before I know what I'm doing, my legs carry me to him, and I'm sliding across a short patch of stage, dust clinging to my crisp dress pants.

" _Jason_ ," my throat's dry, there's pandemonium all around us, Nadia is frantic, Ivy's spluttering, all the other kids we've been with for so, so long, are circling in on us like vultures, but I can't see or hear them.

His eyes, those little planets, - blue and green and all mixed together - trapped behind a thick layer of fog, are staring at me.

My hands grab his face, much like Ivy's had just moments before, but this is riddled with a knee-jerk reaction of years of tenderness.

"Peter-"

My thumbs brush at the tears forming in the corners of his eyelids. "Shh, shh, it's- it's okay,"

Someone in the background is shouting for someone to call 911, but their voice is muffled, like I'm underwater and they're just above the surface.

Ironic. That's ironic because when he tries to gasp ny name again I feel like I'm drowning, like my lungs are collapsing in on themselves and folding into an origami crane.

Someone - Nadia, I think - is pushing people back, demanding space harshly. I smooth his hair back from his sweat soaked forehead.

"Do, do you remember, our first spring together?"

And when he says together I know he doesn't mean when we were two gangly 12 year olds who hadn't even considered what love was or knew what heartache meant in its truest form.

"Yeah-" sobs are climbing to a crescendo in my throat, waiting for…something, I don't want to think about.

"And you were on a Dean Martin kick, that's all- all you would sing around the dorm for w-weeks," he's gasping, and my fingers sink deeper into his cheeks, clawing at the slivers that are so uniquely _him_ and begging them to stay under my fingertips.

"You told me if I sang 'Ain't that a kid in the head' one more time I'd get a kick in the head," I laughed, remembering the words, so sharp, yet so loving, falling right off his tongue.

He smiled. "Our song, do- our song," his eyes aren't really focused on me anymore, they're gaze is right over my shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, of course-" 

How could I forget? The one song that he never got tired of, that I could sing to him any time I pleased and he'd just smile and bury his face in my neck. I could calm him down, bring him back from rage at his family, soothe any bad feelings he had, and all I had to do…was sing.

"If our lips should meet, Innamorato," I had changed the lyrics, swapping the feminine version for the masculine after 10 minutes of him complaining and 20 minutes of research.

"Kiss me, k-kiss me sweet, Innamorato," I whisper as he manages to bring a hand up, fingers brushing my lip, and my voice quakes drastically.

"Hold me close and say- you're _mine_ ," on the heels of rapid breaths are the words straight from his mouth. He puts pressure on my chin, right where his fingers fell almost limply seconds before and I automatically know what he's asking for.

Closer, closer, closer.

I lean forward, my ear resting just by his mouth - shallow breaths touch my ear lobe, and I'm grateful, because each exhale means he's here for one more second, and I know someone's had to have called the police by now, so if he can just hold on for a few more minutes-

"I heaven's door, Innamorato," it's breathed into his neck, pleading, pleading for one more exhale after the next, because I can't- I _can't_ …. 

"Want you more and more, Innamorato," he murmurs, it's too breathy, too strained, and I know the exact places it's different because we had sang it so many times before everything went to shit.

"You're a symphony-" I see something splatter onto his cheek, and only belatedly do I realize it's tears, leaking from my ducts. I go to wipe them away as he continues, "The very beautiful sonanta, my Innamorato-"

His whole body is shaking now, and his lips quake with every sharp inhale. They're draining color fast, fading, fading, from their usual cherry red to a soft blush. I pass my fingers over his hair, taking a shaking breath, before continuing.

"Say, that you're my sweetheart- my love," I hummed the tune as gently as I could, tangling my knobby-knuckled fingers in the brunet locks on the side of his head.

"You're, you're a symphony, a very b-beautiful sonanta my Innamorato," I sang, my voice having to claw its way up and out of my throat. He sunk his fingers into my forearm, holding on for dear life, following my voice with his even slower pace.

"Say…that you're my sweetheart," I whispered.

"My one, and only sweetheart," he agreed.

The tears came faster now, slamming into his skin and rolling onto the stage below him. Something in my heart snapped, like a balloon string being cut. I could feel the balloon rising and rising, floating onward and upward-

My lips popped as I opened them to finish the song, the last verse. We were almost there, almost, almost-

His grip slackened, not-green, but not-blue staring ahead as the flame behind them snuffed out. His fingertips, the same ones I used to kiss in the dead of the night, brushed my hand one last time as they loosened their grip and traveled down, down, down, in what felt like a never ending descent. 

"Say, _say_ that you're my sweetheart-"

I waited patiently for him to respond, to finish the line and press a kiss to my temple like always.

Always.

People say always and you think that they mean forever, but sometimes you realize that forever isn't as long as you thought.

"My love."

The words bust the dam and a heaving sob shakes through my whole body like an earthquake. The aftershocks come in the form of claustrophobia-inducing breaths that seize my lungs and only allow short bursts in and out.

"Jason, Jason please, we'll figure this out I know we can _I know we can_ just please, Jason _please_ ," I grab hold of whatever I can - hair, face, hands, anything that still holds any semblance of him.

But his soul - the flicker in his eyes, the smile in his voice, the hugs and laughter and _love_ , the unwavering _devotion_ is gone.

Gone. He can't be- he _can't_.

Gone + Jason = cannot compute. My brain won't put them together, they're too opposite, parallel spectrums that were never going to meet.

Gone.

"Where's the boy who said I was his soulmate?" I gasped, and it traveled through me like fire, burning and intense.

Suddenly there are hands on me and there are familiar voices and Lukas is grabbing my shoulder and Matt has my elbow and Nadia is there and she's crying and I don't understand.

Another error message rolls across my mind. I struggle against the boys that are holding me back. Nadia's sobbing harder now, but she's grabbing me by the face and she looks so broken-

Idontunderstandidontunderstandidontunderstand.

" _Jason_!" And it's all I know. His name, sharp on my tongue. I've heard myself say it with love, with anger, with sadness, and disappointment, and happiness, but anguish is never a tone I wanted painted acorss those syllables.

"Peter," and Nadia is begging, she's begging, but I don't see her, I see crisp white uniforms and grim faces, I see pity and sadness and adults who don't understand. 

"Nadia-" I turn to look at her fully, I know I'm frantic, I have to get back to him, I have to be there for him-

"Peter, you have to stop struggling," and I don't even realize how hard Lukas and Matt are gripping my arms, I don't feel there hands all over me, even though I'm looking right at it.

She's looking at me so hard, imploring me to, and that's when I finally register everything that's been said. There was Father, demanding someone calm me down, there was Ivy, screaming at the top of her lungs, there was Nadia, her pupils blown wide in shock spluttering for answers to "Is he okay? _Is my brother okay_?!"

"Nadia, Nadia, is he, Nadia, he isn't NadiaNadiaNadia-" I think I'm hyperventilating, or in the early stages of it. My lungs burn and black dots are dancing at the edges of my vision.

"Peter, bro, you've- you've got to breathe-" and that's Lukas, he's crying, tears are slipping down his cheeks. I've only seen him cry once and it was when his grandmother died back in sophomore year.

Everything starts to shift into place in that instant - Lukas, fidgety, eyes shifting uneasily to…him, every few moments, one of the first ones behind myself and Nadia to get to him.

The pieces rearrange and shuffle around, but finally the last one slides into place and -

Anger swells from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, burning through the blue veins in my wrists and hands as they clench into fists.

I know better than to do this here, with Father only a few feet away, with all the authorities still lingering…. I stalk off stage, towards the dressing rooms, they follow, I know they'll follow.

Matt reaches out for my shoulder, trying to soothe me with bland words that he tried to inject meaning into. I shake his hand off, stalling in the middle of the room.

Nadia's here, and so is Ivy, and Matt, of course, if Ivy is anywhere Matt is there, and I know he's probably grieving too, we were all friends. But then the hormones kicked in and we all started lusting and now we're here, well, not all of us.

And the anger is white-hot, crashing over my chest, and there's this immense _weight_ that I can't shake, and I'm trembling again-

"What the fuck did you give him," it's not a question and it's not a plea. I don't direct it at anyone in particular, but I can feel Lukas' shifting energy ramp up behind me.

Ivy looks up, face bloated from the tears. Nadia, with streaming make-up and a torn mask nestled in her hair, opens her mouth to say something, but then seems to think better of it.

And Matt just stands there, arms crossed over his chest, I think he knows better than anyone what comes next.

"Peter, I didn't- you _know_ I wouldn't, if I had known, if I had just _known_ ," 

And rationally, I do know, I know exactly what he's saying. But there's always been a hole inside of me, and for what felt like the longest time it was gone, but now the patchwork is old and rickety and it's disintegrating before my eyes and I can't _be_ rational right now.

"If you had known? If you had just _known_? You shouldn't have been doing this shit anyways! And he was your friend, you've been best-fucking-friends since even before _I_ came around, how could you not see there was something there?!"

And really, I'm not angry at Lukas at all, I'm angry at myself. I was the person he trusted the most in this world, who got to see every side of him, the self-doubt, the love, the good, the bad, and the ugly. How did _I_ not see it. Of course our worlds were crumbling, but we just had a couple more days and then we were out of here and he would go to Notre Dame or wherever he wanted to go and I would go to Berkley and we would figure it all out together.

But if I beat myself up anymore I won't make it out of the hole I'm digging, so I lash out at the ones in the room, the ones he trusted just a little less than me, his friends, the ones he considered his family, and for a minute, I think I'm all bark, no bite.

But Lukas is rambling, and my vision is blurring red, and all I see are not-quite-blue eyes but they're empty, and then I'm making a fist, and I'm turning ariund, and Lukas is close, he's close enough-

The sound of knuckles clambering over cheek and nose is a new one, and the blooming pain is too, though it's welcome.

Lukas reels back, hands over his face, eyes more pained than the angry red bruises starting to form across his skin.

"I deserved that-" he hiccups, and his face is a mixture of tears and blood, and Nadia's yelling at me to stop, please, stop, he wouldn't have wanted this.

And that strikes a deep chord in me. The fist that I hadn't even realized I still had balled up went limp at my side, and that was when I really took in the scene before me.

Ivy had her arms wrapped around herself - her stomach - and all the air left me. And Nadia- _Nadia_. Lukas was crumpled to his knees, sobbing so deeply and painfully that I was momentarily stunned.

The tears were rushing even harder down my face when I approached Lukas. I sunk to my knees and put my arms around him, pulling his towards me in a hug. He buried his nose - still pulsing blood - into my dress shirt and heaved out guttural cries.

The pure emotion sent me over the edge. How did I not see it? How did I not see it when he came to me just before the show and begged, _begged_ for us to leave this place.

And I want, no, I _need_ time to stop because every second that ticks by puts me that much farther from him, and I have to hold on for as long as I can.

Eventually Lukas' arms shift around me, and then Nadia's there, and so is Matt, who pulls Ivy along, and we're all crying - some us had only whispers of tears while others had shouts. 

Our little group feels so much more empty than I ever thought it could, but I need this, I need them, because they're all I've got now

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry??? 
> 
> I've had this is my drafts for Months and just now got around to editing and posting (shoutout to ley for inflating my dismal writing ego so I'd post this, and also being the first person to witness this idea when I initially thought of it; you're the true mvp ily) but now I feel like I need to write Good Things about these kids because there's enough tragedy here. Can anyone say thay one Ivy/Nadia fic that's been sitting in my drafts unfinished since October?


End file.
